


Between Rage and Serenity

by fio



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fio/pseuds/fio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I saw me, worming my way into a place you don’t think I belong.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Rage and Serenity

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for x-men first class. wrote this in my head while I was still watching the movie. i can’t do it guys. they’ve done it. i am ruined.

“You’re tense tonight, Erik,” Charles says over the chessboard, moving his knight to leave Erik’s king in check. He leans back in his chair and fiddles aimlessly with the cuffs of his sleeves. He hasn’t peeked into Erik’s mind, and he won’t, but he doesn’t have to. He can feel the stiffness in the air, sharp and uncomfortable.

Erik is still, body half out of his seat where he sits on the edge of the chair, staring down at the chessboard and the few pieces left on the squares. He moves a pawn a space forward, bringing his king out of check and making Charles raise an eyebrow in surprise.

“That’s an odd choice,” he says easily, and he wonders what Erik is planning to do.

That’s half the fun of playing him, really, or just knowing him in general. Even with the power to read his thoughts like a cheap newspaper, Charles is never quite sure what Erik is really thinking.

“What else did you see?” Erik asks suddenly, and Charles stiffens in his seat. His glass of whiskey nearly slips out of his fingers, but he tightens his grip and stops dragging his finger around the rim.

“See? See what?”

Erik looks up from the chessboard and gives Charles a flat, simple look.

“You’re far too smart to play dumb.”

Charles lets out a laugh, but no smile spreads on Erik’s face.

“Please. Tell me what you saw.”

Instead of answering, Charles coughs and leans back forward, pushing a rook four squares down the board and placing Erik’s king back in check. He puts his glass on the table beside the black pieces he’s collected over the course of their game and sighs, twining his fingers together.

“Where?” Charles asks after a moment, meeting Erik’s eyes at last. “I’ve been everywhere inside your mind at one point or another. You’ll need to specify.”

Erik doesn’t look surprised to hear it. Charles supposes it’s a sign of great trust that Erik doesn’t lean the rest of the way over and kill him for all the things he knows. Or maybe a sign of something more.

“In that... brightest spot. Inside my memories. Aside from my mother, what did you see?”

And it’s then that Charles begins to realize Erik already knows the answer, and the question he’s saying isn’t the one he’s really asking. He licks at his lips and feels his palms grow sweaty, and he wants to laugh at how utterly young he feels in that moment. He’s used to feeling aged, for all the minds that he’s stepped in to, taking years back into him when he steps out, but with Erik he always feels young. Like a teenager, stumbling and clumsy and totally out of his depth.

“Do you really want—” Charles starts, but Erik’s chair squeals as he slides further forward, head leaning over the chessboard so close to Charles’ own that he can feel Erik’s breaths against his cheek.

“I know what I want, Charles. Tell me.”

“I saw me,” Charles says, and the words tumble forward like they’re being pulled, unavoidably attracted to the magnet that is Erik and Erik’s eyes and Erik’s hands and Erik’s memories. Those memories, so painted with pain and anger and hatred that Charles wonders how Erik lived with them at all and how he’s supposed to go on living now that he’s felt them, too. Each of them digging under his skin and into his veins, haunting his body and mind like ghosts. His breath is shallow and the chessboard lies forgotten between them, a game they’ll never stop playing. “I saw me,” he says again, “telling you you’re not alone. Telling you... I’m with you. I trust you. Calling you friend and training with you. I saw your memories of me, tucked away between cold nights with your mother when you were still together.”

Charles feels his hands trembling and his body fidgeting, unable to keep still, while Erik sits frozen in front of him. He could reach forward, just a bit, press into Erik’s mind and read what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t have to. For once, Charles can read what Erik’s thinking all over his face.

“I saw me, worming my way into a place you don’t think I belong.”

The table between them is shoved to the side and Erik leans the rest of the way forward, Charles meeting him halfway there, and they’re both nearly slipping off of their chairs as they kiss, mouths slamming together and hands grabbing each other, wherever they can reach. Erik pulls, and again like a helpless pin drawn to a magnet, Charles follows, both of them falling onto their knees on the carpet where the table for the chessboard had been moments before. Charles keeps his hands in Erik’s hair and down the back of his neck, squeezing and tugging and dying to bring him closer, to make each kiss deeper and louder as their tongues dance together. Erik’s hands go straight for their belts, knuckles dragging accidentally against Charles’ stomach and making him moan and finally break their kiss.

“Charles,” Erik mumbles, and Charles feels Erik’s hand slide around his cock and move, hard and fast, making him moan again, louder this time without Erik’s tongue to muffle him.

“Erik—God, _Erik_ ,” Charles hisses, hands slipping from Erik’s hair to grab at his shoulders. He leans his face forward, burying it in Erik’s neck, and tries to hear anything but the pulse pounding in his ears, but he can’t. He’s surrounded by Erik, smothered and trapped by everything he is—beautiful and broken and so very, very angry. Charles is already hard in Erik’s hand, and every drag of his fingers and squeeze of his palm has Charles making new noises, ones he hasn’t ever heard himself make with a woman or under his own well-practiced hand. He feels himself start to wobble, unable to keep himself up, and Erik nudges his legs further open with his knees, making him slip back onto his ass and lean back against his chair. Erik stays close, invading Charles’ space and filling his sense with _him_.

“Charles, you belong there,” Erik says quietly, and Charles almost misses him saying it. His heart is beating so loud in his ears he can barely hear a word, but he pushes just a bit and reads the words just off Erik’s tongue. He doesn’t quite understand them at first, with Erik’s second hand dipping down below his belt and fingers sliding against his hole making him groan and buck upwards. But Erik says it again and Charles focuses hard, because he never wants to miss a word that comes out of Erik.

“I _want_ you to belong there. The brightest amongst my memories, bringing me strength,” Erik breathes right against his ear and Charles comes with a shout and a shiver that rocks his whole body. He feels light and complete and utterly empty, hands still digging into Erik’s shoulders, afraid to let go and slip into nothing. It takes him a moment—a moment during which Erik lays him down on the floor, ridding him of his slacks and his shirts—to come back to himself and realize what just happened. His ears turn pink as Erik kisses down his chest, and he desperately searches for something to say.

“I-It’s not usually over that quick,” is the best he can come up with, and he feels his face start to burn with embarrassment. Erik pushes up to look down into his face, and there’s a smile there, wide and earnest and brilliant.

“You’re not quite so smooth when you don’t have your usual script to read from,” Erik grins, and Charles laughs, lifting his neck off the floor to press their lips together. Erik slides a hand into Charles’ hair, holding him up and keeping their mouths pressed against each other, tongues sliding together and making Charles’ pulse sing in his ears again. When Erik pulls away and lets Charles lay his head back down on the floor, they’re both out of breath and their lips bruised bright red. Erik licks at his lips and slips his other hand between Charles’ legs, making Charles gasp and rock against him.

“That’s alright, though,” Erik says, pulling away to tug his sweater over his head, and Charles feels his cock jump against his thigh as he watches. Erik leans back down and kisses along Charles’ neck, laughing lightly when he hears Charles fight to keep his voice quiet while he moans. “This side of you is far less embarrassing.”

“Hey, I will have you know, I can pull off that _script_ perfectly well—” Charles starts, but Erik cuts him off, kissing him hard and pressing his naked body down, skin meeting skin and bleeding memories and feelings and thoughts into Charles’ mind from everywhere all at once. But he doesn’t try to push them away, instead pulling them closer, taking everything of Erik’s that he will give, making him burn and hurt and writhe and cry like he never has before. And as he takes, he gives back something more, to make the pain duller and to take the cut and the bite out of each painful, hateful memory.

As Erik bleeds out his past, Charles bleeds in his future, sending forward love, as much as he can bear, in hopes that it will keep Erik from breaking.


End file.
